Scars
by paynesgrey
Summary: Matthew finds one of Mary's scars that has a story. Mary x Matthew. One-shot. Post-Christmas episode.


AN: Written for the "smooth" prompt for the Summer Mini Challenge on Livejournal. This is a one-shot and will not be continued.

Scars

So many times after their wedding night, he had felt her fingers trail a smooth line over his body, memorizing every angle, curve and scar. Mary's fingers would always idly circle around the harsh scar on his back from the war, looking at it with a pensive frown, as if she was awash with morose memories while touching it (just as he was).

Tonight, it was his turn. Matthew had spent many endless, forbidden nights since he'd met her trying to paint a picture of the great Lady Mary Crawley in her natural state. Even in the trenches during the war, he dared to admit, he'd thought of her then, when his mind was supposed to always linger to another, and only to his fiance.

Yet at least, regrets and shame long gone, Mary was now his to explore. Propriety could wait outside their bedroom door; Mary was properly his wife, and his to hold, his to map and search.

He delighted in the sensual sounds she made as his fingers trembled over her skin. He would have thought by now, after all the time they'd been married, he'd eventually relax in her presence. But as much as he tried, he couldn't; this was _Mary_, and as long as she could breathe she would affect him, the way his heart beat or the way one look would just tingle like lightning over his nerves.

Stretching out beside her on his side, she sighed as his hands roamed over her back as she lay on her stomach. He found a certain pleasure at seeing the rounds of her breasts peek out at the sides as she rested on them. He trailed kisses over her shoulders and down the perfect pale skin of the dip of her spine.

Then he stopped abruptly, staring at the thin scar on the small of her back. He paused, tracing a cautious finger over it lightly, as if trying to soak up the history of it. Instead, his face turned into a frown.

His wife must have realized his distress. "Matthew?" she inquired, turning on her side as he caught a generous view of her lovely breasts. Too distracted by her scar, he looked to her eyes and put a sympathetic hand on her arm.

"Mary, how did you get that scar...?" Though he didn't mean it, he might have said it too harshly, too demanding of a husband that expected fast explanations rather than showered her with tender sympathy. He looked at her pleadingly, hoping that Mary understood his concern, and knew that he wanted nothing more to make it all better and keep everything about her protected as was only his right to do.

It must have been dreadful at one time, and he thought only of the pain she must have felt. Mary was no delicate flower, but she was still..._a woman_, soft and vulnerable, someone he would do everything in his power to keep safe.

"Oh, the one on my back?" her eyes lit, and he was relieved that he saw no darkness within her gaze. She waved her hand in the air as if it were nothing.

Though, despite her feeling, it wasn't _nothing_to Matthew.

She sighed heavily, seeing as there was no consoling him unless he knew the story. "It was a horse riding accident when I was ten." She lifted her chin, a very-Mary like gesture of pride and scorn at any humiliation. "I thought...I could best a bigger, wilder horse that I was not prepared for. My father warned against it, but I put up such a fuss that he let me...for a moment."

"And...let me guess, the horse proved you wrong," Matthew said, a little too cheekily than he intended. Mary bristled slightly, and when he rubbed a lazy finger down her arm to the swell of her breasts she relaxed. He pulled her against him, and she settled comfortably, finishing her story.

"I put up a fight too," she said, and he could hear the pout of a ten year-old still in her tone. He chuckled.

"Of course, you did, my darling. I would expect nothing less of you, at any age," he said, snuggling her closer and laying a kiss on her forehead.

She sighed lazily and while looking up at him, she shifted so she could meet his lips, drawing out the kiss deeply as he moaned in her mouth. "There, you see, you have nothing to worry about."

"Pardon? Me, worry about you?" he said, acting incredulous.

"Yes, _you_. You looked as though the world ended the moment you saw that scar. Really, Matthew, you can't protect me from everything, and you certainly can't cover up all my scars, even through time," Mary said, and her voice turned low and breathy. "Though, for the ones you do, I'm grateful."

He pulled her over him, her arms automatically snaking over his shoulders. "No need to be grateful, darling. I would do anything to guard you. I've felt that way since the first time I met you," he said.

He watched a single eyebrow rise skeptically on her glowing face. "Oh really?" She moved over him, straddling him. He let a heady gasp escape as she settled over him, almost taking him inside, rubbing against his hardness oh-so slightly with her smooth thighs. "That time even? It almost seems preposterous. I was under the impression you hated me at first sight."

"Never..." he whispered, nipping her lip. She ran an idle hand through his golden hair and stared down at him, entranced by his otherworldly blue eyes.

"You must remind me then," she responded, and she felt him shift, filling her, moving and pushing the gasp from her swollen lips.

"Are you challenging me like some kind of wild..._horse_, Mrs. Crawley?" He moved, tensing his muscles under her, within her. She let out a slight moan that slid into a teasing laugh.

"Only if you promise to leave me without scars," she said, her whisper a moist breath against his mouth.

He traced his hands over her hips and gripped her against him as they fell into a steady rhythm. He pulled her in, kissed her again, his lips trailing down to the pulse in her neck. "No scars, my darling," he said against her ear, his lips tugging playfully at the skin of her jaw. "Other marks however, well that, I cannot promise."

END


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